


The Interlude

by siren_not_mermaid



Series: Strangers [2]
Category: Damien - Fandom, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 9,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siren_not_mermaid/pseuds/siren_not_mermaid
Summary: in·ter·lude | ˈin-tər-ˌlüdnounAn intermediate work performed during an intermission.
Series: Strangers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640008
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue: Cold Dementia.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lament Of A Stranger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780823) by [SleepyNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyNightingale/pseuds/SleepyNightingale). 



White. Cold. Wet. The senses hit me like a freight train with no concern for the man stuck to the tracks. White. All I see is white. With every frost encrusted blink I take, I am greeted with the reddish black of the back of eyelids, then back to white. The cold is all around me. It comes back in flashes, then fades into a numbness of false security. Then it’s cold again. And it’s cold everywhere. The wetness soaks through my shoes, chilling my feet and making every step I take more agonizing than the last. I can’t see shit. But I’m still walking. I think. Everything hurts, but by the blurred motion of dark clothes that I can make out when I look down, I can assume I’m walking forward.

I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. I can’t remember anything.  
  


The worst thing is, I don’t see anyone else around me. Thankfully my mouth isn’t frozen shut, for now at least. I open my mouth to yell.

> “ **CELINE!** ” 

It comes out hoarse. A cough forces its way up before I can even finish. I swallow. Hard. It hurts.   
  


No, she wouldn’t be here. Why would she? She- 

She disappeared. 

She disappeared and then I went to look for her. 

And then I found William.

And then when I found William, we fought.

But I didn’t want to fight.

Yet we fought.

I tried to help.

And it hurt… It hurt so bad. 

It still hurts.

I feel a warmth. A tingling in my abdomen that could be a hundred things. Even hypothermia. Probably hypothermia. I look down. Red. 

Well that’s new. 

Red dots litter the snow, and with a painful turn backwards it appears that I’ve been bleeding. How long have I been bleeding? I look down at the sanguine rose that blossomed from me and I remember that I was shot. By Will... It’s funny how the person you’d take a bullet for can end up behind the trigger. I loved him—I _still_ love him! That hasn’t changed, but… The more concerning thing is, what is happening to me?

_Am I dead?_ Maybe this is hell. Or maybe this is heaven and God has been playing a cruel trick on us the entire time. I was a fool to believe that anything good could have come out of that house. Out of the lives we lead. Out of the secrets we kept. Nothing stays forever, but could I not have had one more night with him? One moment to make amends? One moment to just breathe… But now I can’t.

I can’t breathe. _I can’t breathe._ The burning inside my lungs doesn’t soothe the hug of hypothermia on my skin.

I feel the wet on my hands now and I can only assume I’ve collapsed. How could I be dying again? Perhaps this is what I deserve. I can’t stay awake anymore. I just can’t.

> ‘ _Dames~’_

It’s nearly impossible, but I manage to look up, expecting to wake from a terrible nightmare to see William hovering above me, his nose to mine, as he always did—securely right in front of me, with his back to the world, as if ready to shield me from anything coming my way. But no. It was just the white of the world again. 

Except… it wasn’t. There is a speck of umber against the flurry of snow and the moment my eyes focus onto it, I start running.

It is slow at first; just breaking out of the ice takes all the effort I could muster, all the energy I have left, of which there was very little to start with. Finally the momentum starts and I trudge through the sleet and snow towards the dot. 

The brown dot gets larger, and yet my mind does not wander towards the thought of sanctuary, but only to my friends… My family. My sister. Is there a way to get them back, or are they gone forever? 

Where is everyone?

I approach the brown dot, rather, now a clearly visible cabin. How long has it been there? I see the woods behind, but it’s too cold and I’m too exhausted to even attempt to make sense of anything.

I throw the door open and enter. The very lack of cold is instant relief to my body, and the burning of my muscles seems to flood back into me. 

I hear the creak of a door and footsteps behind me. As I start to turn, I hear a familiar voice.

> ‘ _Who are you_?’

Celine. I see her face. I only have time to register how tired she looks.

> ‘ _Oh Damien…_ ’

I go to speak, and then, perhaps as payment for overdrafting my energy, I fall to the ground. Instead of white, all I see now is the black of darkness.


	2. Prologue: Come Home.

FUCK! Okay. 

Actually, no- It’s not okay. 

I am… back here. And I’m stuck, aren’t I? That’s a stupid question. I know I am. That son of a bitch stuck me in here. And he- 

I would continue, except I feel a particularly painful heat and emptiness from deep within me and honestly that feels just a little more pressing at the time. 

I rip open my jacket because it feels like there is a hole burning in my chest. My shirt’s buttons get ripped open as well and I look down to find the cavity in my chest empty. The skin is peeled away and there is just a… a hole in me. It looks wretched and rotted and- I have to stop looking. 

_ Fuck _ …

I’m dead. Dead in the upside-down. 

Usually I’m just the one on the outside looking in.. It’s always empty and cold. The people here are never real people. Just the creatures they become as the void warps them. I just never thought I’d end up here myself. 

Enough pitying myself. I can’t waste time. Standing here fuming isn’t going to melt the snow. And it certainly doesn’t look like I’m going to get help any time soon. 

I take a look around to get an idea of what the _fuck_ I’m going to do now. There is a stretch of woods behind me. Good. There’s a lake further down. Food is useful. And just empty fields of ice in front of me with an axe jutting out of the ground. 

Does he just think of this as a fucking game? Leaving an axe on the ground as some sort of parting present... I don’t even want to pick it up, but it’s the only thing that’s going to help me survive. 

I stomp over to the axe and it’s incredibly easy to notice how fragile the ground is. It feels like it can break at any second. I don’t want to test how much it can take. I’ve got to be careful.

I wiggle the axe out and get to work. It takes hours, maybe even days of going back and forth. From the woods, to the ice, then back to the woods. I fall asleep in the worst places; it’s uncomfortable every time. 

Each time a tree starts its descent onto the ground, I hold my breath. Who knows when one day it will break the ground and the water swallows me up.

‘ **CELINE’**

I swear I hear my name. And I swear it sounds like Damien. But he can’t be dead… Can he? No. Mark doesn’t have anything against him. He wouldn’t. He  _ does _ have something against me, so damn him if this is another way he’s choosing to torment me. 

If I give him the attention he wants, he’ll never leave me alone. So I just keep building my cabin. The sooner I can get out of this cold, the better. It seems to be getting worse. 

The perpetual silence doesn’t help, save for the constant rush of wind past my ears. The only other face I get to see is mine in the reflection of the frozen lake. There are no fish left alive there. Which is fine, because I’ve found that dead people trapped in the upside-down don’t need to eat. But I would have hoped for at least one other living thing whose company I could share. 

When I come back, I find the cabin door open. 

_ What? _

I did not leave it open. Grabbing the axe, ready to swing, I peek through the entrance. 

Mark. 

He’s standing there, looking into the fireplace. Probably waiting for me to enter. It’s pathetic that he still hasn’t moved on. It’s certainly not like he loved me anyways. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. So goddamn alone. I look closer at him. Mark isn’t really moving. 

There is a trail of blood behind him. That’s not Mark. But that is someone, or more likely some _ thing, _ that looks like him. 

“ _ Who are you? _ ” 

I see him turn around and I’m faced with my brother looking the worst he’s ever been.  He’s never looked so bruised, beaten, and bloody since the incident. 

It was bad back then. He was just a kid, and the others pounded him to a pulp over a rumour.  I remember him crying, listing off every name they called him, as I bandaged him up.  He was never the same since then, and I can see that same look in his eyes. A look of all hope lost. 

A broken boy. 

“ _ Oh Damien… _ ”

He tries to speak. I don’t let him. He looks so exhausted. 

I see him collapse to the ground. Good. It means my powers still work here. He needs to go to sleep. More importantly, he needs to not remember any of this. 

I pull him into the bed. I didn’t know there was a bed in here. Does that mean that the axe…?

There isn’t time to wonder about that. 

I cover him to let him warm up and I neatly box up his memories into a corner of his mind. I don’t like doing this, but he just can’t handle being dead. I know my brother. This will undo him if it hasn’t already.

I keep the fire running. More and more the cabin becomes furnished. Every day he stays asleep. And every day he’s asleep, I stay awake. I watch. I protect. Because I love him, and that’s my _goddamn_ job since I brought him into this mess.

And then one day he wakes up. I hear him stir from his sleep as I stare into the fireplace. My attention shoots over and I see him sitting up on the bed. He looks at me and I search his eyes. That twinkle. I see it again. I hope I’ve protected him, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. But I’ve got to make sure it stays up as long as it can, and I’m not going to take any chances. 

“ _ Morning, Damien. Do you think you can go out and get some firewood? We’re running low.”  _

‘ **Sure…’**

He gives himself a stretch and he goes about it all as if it was normal. Perhaps this is our normal. He’s out of the house, and I could sleep while he’s gone. But again, I can’t take any chances.

I don’t know how long he’s been gone and if he came back until I hear him enter with a bang from the entrance. I feel the ground shake. 

“ _ Don’t slam the door, Damien!”  _

  
  



	3. Prologue: Just a Lie

Hello? I think I’m lost… 

It’s incredibly dark here. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. 

I’m wandering aimlessly through halls that warp and twist. I turn my head to see something new but all I see is the old. Old and broken. 

This is the place of the **_broken_**. 

  
Broken things.

Broken dreams.

Broken people. 

And everything is unfixable.

My heart aches and bleeds for everything and everyone. My empathy overflows like a tsunami. The ebbs and crests. Calm at first… then deadly. 

I weep and weep and weep till I feel exhausted and then I still cry for I don’t know how long I’ve been here or how long I will be nor if I will even get out alive. If there is an ‘out,’ I’m surely not allowed to know.

Time here seems to abide by no rules. Flippant and arrogant as the flooding tides, for who do they regard as their master but the moon herself, who is so far away and untouchable? There is no controlling them as there is no controlling time. 

Like everything else here, time too is broken. 

I am glass and I feel utterly  shattered . I have been destroyed. I am bigger than my body yet I feel so incredibly small. I’m a pinpoint in the universe that one sudden and careless movement could erase because existence is just that brief and I am just that expendable. But I am also the universe herself.

Broken clocks are right twice a day, except when they simply aren’t because everything in here is completely fractured. A million pieces. A million souls. A million eyes. We have been ruined, our souls scattered far and wide. And if we were ever to come back, it would be an abominable amalgamation of our lives. 

I see what he’s doing. Mark. I understand. I understand now, because I have been blended into the very fabric of his plans. I am threaded through every stitch and I am ever-present yet detached as if marooned in a body and toted around like a captive audience, always focused on  _ him _ . But I still love him. I don’t know why, yet I think I’ve always known.

Like a nesting doll I am layered with every age, race, and creed. I strip away one layer of me to reveal another person. Each with their own lives and their own lies. I am everyone. Yet I seem to be nobody.

Every emotion I feel sends me reeling. I am thrown into cosmic disarray. I am ruined, reformed, and I reclaim my thoughts only to be led back to my ruination. I hear voices, and I try to follow only to end back where I think I used to be. But how would I even know? 

I try to scream. I beg. I pray. Someone needs to hear me. But nobody does. Nobody ever does. Nobody ever did. Nobody ever will.

Reality bends, and twists, and dances and I get lost in it. I stop resisting. I let the riptide pull me under and I am pleated into the folds of this place. 

I accept it. Because I don’t know how much longer I cannot. 


	4. Prologue: Connected.

_Destroying_. They have been destroyed. They have been destroyed. They have been destroyed. And they will destroy others for this.

_Holding_. Everyone holds their dreams and our thoughts and their feelings and our power.

_Creating._ We will create something new. Something beautiful. Something terrible. Something incredibly right. Something that serves a greater purpose. Something **painful**. Something righteous. 

And we will be glorious.

**_I will help._ **

  
  



	5. Ruination: DAMIEN

Damien huffed. A cloud of cold breath visible as he pulled back the axe. The sound of two thumps followed. Picking up the two halves of wood he propped one back up to be split.

This was the routine. Day in. Day out. Every day was the same...

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up. Get firewood. Don’t slam the door.

Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- Wake up- 

DAMIEN. _Wake up~_

…Except for when it’s not.

Did you, my dear listener, ever really think that it would come down to this? All this pain and destruction. The little tricks the Actor would play on the Mayor. Pulling him underneath the break of water, down to plummet into the dark and cold unknown.

“What has she been keeping from you?”

Damien stood in horror as every barrier, neat little bow, and protective force that Celine made had come undone. Completely unwound, and left in ruins. 

“ **Celine. What’s going on?** ” Damien’s eyes flitted away from the body of Mark, and from the axe, onto Celine. His deer-in-the-headlights look was anything but inappropriate.

> “ _He’s ruined everything_ .” 

CRACK.

“ **I remember… I remember it all**.” And just like that, it was all back. It clicked. Then it went off. Into his stomach. 

“ **Why did you make me forget?** ” Damein never usually barked out in anger, but this wasn’t a moment of restraint for him. “You left me vulnerable, and weak!” 

> “ _I had to protect you! You’re my baby brother-_ ”

“ **I can protect myself!** ”

CRACK.

> “ _Not from him. He seeps into every crevice of happiness and destroys it from the inside out. And he’s done it again, Damien. I’ve done a lot of bad things. Hurt a lot of people. But I promise, it was for you._ ”

Damien’s eyes narrowed for a moment. Just a fraction of a second. A moment of anger. It was enough, though. Enough to be augmented. 

“ **I never asked you to. You did this yourself. I didn’t want this!** ”

> “ _Damien-_ ”

Her protests fell short on his eyes. He closed them and took a breath, his chest rising and falling as the ice next to him was splitting into fractals in sync with every release. 

CRACK.

“ **But I know why you did it. He’s a terrible man who won’t stop at any length to manipulate and hurt the people who love him**.” 

> “ _I’m so tired…_ ” 

“ **I know. You should sleep.”**

> _“But what about you?_ ”

“ **This place was made for broken things. We have been destroyed. We can’t fix this**.”

Damien understood the look in Celine’s eyes. He understood her acceptance. That everything was beyond repair. The ice will break. The cradle will fall. Things will change.

> “ _I love you._ ”

“ **I know.** ”

Nothing more could be heard as the ice couldn’t hold, allowing the frigid waters to rush in, sweeping everything away. Chunks of ice split off and thud into the walls of the cabin, tearing it apart. They built it all up just to see it torn down. Nothing is ever spared in these situations, you know. Nothing. 

Damien watched Celine drift away from him. 

Damien watched himself sink further. 

Damien saw it all.


	6. Ruination: CELINE

Oh listeners, have you ever been silenced by noise? Well, I can’t say it’s enjoyable for sure. I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure Celine would; and that she’d tell you... If she could.

The water came in at first as a trickle, veering through the cracked chasms of the ice wall. Then, with a sudden push, it came surging through, as the sister and brother resigned to their fates. 

The water engulfed Celine, forcing its way into her, numbing her on the inside and out. Everything left as quickly as the water came.

She lost her warmth.    
She lost her sense of touch.   
She lost her sight.   
She lost her breath.

But she remained. 

She will remain until her business is over. She can’t die. She won’t die. Not yet. Not fucking yet. 

There was only thought running through her conscience in the sea of black behind her eyelids.

_ I’m not going before I do right by Damien. _

Because to her, doing right by Damien meant doing wrong by Mark. But he deserves it, right? We all get what we deserve, don’t we?

_ I have to piece him together again. _

Fractured. Fragmented. Each of them were broken into pieces. Heart. Soul. Mind. Body. Each separated. Cut into neat puzzle pieces only to be jammed together. A number of pieces with just the wrong edges. But, nonetheless, whole they will become. Whether they want to or not.    
It is the only way.

_ It’s so cold. _

Miles and miles away they are. Once twins, so connected in the warmth of the womb, now isolated from one another in their icy tomb.

_ And I’m so tired. _

Celine knew she had to reach into the blackness. Into what feels like a vacuum of cold air. A substance beyond this word. An omni-darkness of evil that she won’t desire to tap into.  **But it will be the only way.**

_ I should sleep. _

He won’t be perfect. But his scattered pieces would be glued together. Some cracks will remain, but he will be intact. Without form, but intact. Or at least, that's what she hopes.

Nonetheless, while their physical senses may be shattered, their consciousnesses are released and allowed to mix and meld with this horrid place. Their minds  _ are _ alive. They are exposed. But as broken individuals, who knows what kind of evils may persuade them one way or another?

It said it would help. And help it will. But what is a soul, even fractured and held together by a sinister void, without a vessel?    
  


Convince her, Celine and Damien. You know what you must do.


	7. Ruination: YOU

> Why does it feel like everything is going to shit? 

It’s a stupid thought, but given where I am, everything feels stupid. Incomprehensive. 

What exactly am I looking at?

It looks so dark. Darker than the dark around me. Is that bad?

I think it’s bad.

But it tells me everything I want to hear.

It promises me things. Rewards for things I don’t think I’d normally do.

> Could I come back from this?

  
  



	8. Ruination: IT

Ah. This is… interesting.

Doesn’t it hurt, dear listeners, to see something terrible lurking in the water; but you simply cannot warn the poor souls happily swimming at the surface? 

**_It sees an Opportunity._ **

If you had the chance to warn them, would you? 

**_It sees Growth._ **

Should you warn them?

**_It foresees an Infestation._ **

And It is certainly not wrong. 


	9. Reformation: the Lock and the Key

The thing about Celine is that when the Seer gets mad, she gets _mad_. Which was clear to see as she stomped down the stairs of the Manor, leaving a distracted husband behind.

You could have practically seen the flames lick behind her like the train of a wedding dress as she sped down the stairs to leave. She didn’t know exactly where, but she knew she just needed to get out. 

She let go of the cardigan that she was furiously putting on and fixing as she fled in order to get the door. Which she so graciously slammed shut with a bit of dress caught as it locked. 

As she attempted to tug the dress out, she spat out a multitude of terrible words. But mostly ‘fuck.’ 

She finally tugged the skirt of her dress hard enough to hear the tearing of fabric, which oddly, was relieving in this case.

This little mishap did not slow her down. Freed, she pivoted on her heel to storm out of the patio. Only to smack straight into the Colonel’s chest. 

Two arms reached around Celine to steady her, but they were quickly pushed away.

> “ _I’m fine_!” 

She backed up, the warmth of his hand on her already hot with anger arms still burning. She quickly rubbed her arms and crossed them, trying to rid herself of the sensation’s remnant.

> “No you’re not~” 

After all the venomous and piercing words thrown one another inside the house, the sweet lilt that laced William’s words, even when concerned, made the anger melt. 

> _“I am…_ ”

But not the suffering. The suffering never leaves.

She faltered as the lie left her lips. It never felt right. To not tell the truth. Little did she know.

> “ _No. I’m not_.”

She didn’t know why she admitted it. She barely talks to her brother about these things, let alone the Colonel. 

> “I don’t know what’s exactly going on, but if I know you, I know what you’ll do~ So, let me help…”

He wasn’t wrong. Wherever Celine goes, destruction follows in her wake. So for once, she let it go. She unlocked her heart, and let him in. Because perhaps for once she’s willing to give herself the comfort that she needs. 

When William offered his embrace once more, she accepted, fitting herself into his arms like the last piece of a puzzle--with satisfaction.

She breathed it in. The smell of pine and confectioner sugar. His uniform was starchy but his warmth made her simmer down. His fingers were callused, but his touch was gentle. He was incredibly hardened by war, yet in his embrace she felt cushioned in his safety.

She pulled away, looking up at William to tell him a thank you. But something stopped her.

He deserved more than that. Wil was a rock for her brother, a responsible sibling himself, a war veteren for fuck’s sake! He has a million other things to do but he took a moment to just hold a woman he knew was a walking bomb. He was insane.

She suddenly closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet. She expected this. It was a nice kiss. It did not cease. Despite her husband being just a mere jealous strides away, the kiss did not break, nor was broken. 

He was there at the right time and the right place. But who was it right for?

It felt _wrong._

However, she was sure that Mark wouldn’t care because if he did care, she wouldn’t be here, breaking down, kissing another man, and finding so much consolation in it. 

And for once, the Seer felt okay. 


	10. Reformation: the Needle and the Thread

From afar a man was seen. 

Through her eyes of love. In between the balusters of the staircase bannister. Through the crack of the bathroom door. In the reflection of the mirror.

A man who thought he was alone. _Always untrue_.

He was vulnerable, exposed, but most importantly, he was genuine. No facades. No sob stories. No plastered smiles he wore like a mask. He simply stood in front of his mirror.

A man who, for a moment, forgot his audience. 

No performances for others. Only performances for himself. He pretended for a moment that he could catch up to that speeding train of thought he was running behind.

A smile. A giggle. A fun game of pretend.

  
“Ah yes Jim. See- The weather is nice, but the view is nicer!” he said, into his hairbrush now microphone.   
  


He was in a different world. But that world seems like honey.

Honey to catch the fly. 

Every now and then he looked in the mirror and he saw the version of himself that he wished he weren’t. The version of himself he was nonetheless. He wished he could do it over again. But if he could, should he?

  
“Say Jim, what do you-

> “Is that another role of yours?”

“HOLY HELL-“ the brush fell to the ground. The voice surprised him, leaving him startled by the sudden appearance of a third. He kicked the brush behind him.

“How uh... how long have you been standing there.”

> “Not that long. Sorry I interrupted. That’s reserved for work.”   
> 

  
The look on his face was hilarious to the surprise guest. Mark looked like a deer in the headlights. It was incredibly raw. For once, the wall had crumbled down.

  
“So you saw the whole-“ He gestured to the general area around him of tomfoolery.

> “I most certainly did. It was... cute” 

“I think you mean stupid.”

> “Sure. Stupid… Stupidly cute- !” 

  
A blush fell across Mark’s face as he was taken aback by the fondness. A blush and a giddy smile that broke into a chuckle that he certainly couldn’t hide.

It was incredulous to the visitor how much love, longing, and desire has been overlooked by the Actor. How oblivious he is to obvious feelings that stood before him. 

> “So who’s Jim?” 

“Oh uh- Something I’m testing out. He’s just a character that-“ 

> “You play?” 

“No. Not yet...”

  
  


When she listened, she heard the twisted duo speak to her of desire and devastation. She knew it was wrong. She kept listening anyway.


	11. Reformation: the Lost and the Found

There was a moment when the shutter of cameras and the ring of gunshots would stop. It would stop and they could breath. Each man dealing with a war of his own. Against others. Against themselves. 

It was a constant struggle. A never ending fight for their own success. Each with their life on the line in their own way.

But sometimes, it would just stop. It would be still and quiet. And in the silence they would sit in the lawn and look at the stars so that the big world that swallows them up can feel tiny again. 

The Mayor ran a finger through his hair, letting it be messy in the eyes of none who would scrutinize an imperfection.

> “ **Wil, I don’t know what to do. This is the first time Celine has complained about Mark**.”

“Really~ The first time? I know how many times Mark has pissed me off while growing up. I wouldn’t doubt she’s exploded before.”

> “ **Well- Yes. But those were small things. This one worries me. We spent the whole day together and then out of nowhere it came up. And for once, it felt serious**.”

“I don’t know how marriage works but I suppose I’ll get there eventually. In the meantime, I’ll have a talk with Mark.”

Wil leaned down onto the grass, laying back to stare at the stars.

Damien ran his hand through his hair again. It was a habitual response to anxiety at this point.

> “ **You would think that at least one day would pass without it being stressful**.” 

“Well I suppose that’s life~”

The conversation paused there. That was a heavy topic. There was much to think about. It was unclear if William was paying any mind as Damien reran his understanding of ‘life’ and what it was supposed to be over and over again in his head.

> “ **Wil... What** **_do_ ** **you think of this? Of all this? Of… life?** ”

The Colonel, who was magnificent in putting on a smile at even the worst moments, sat up. Resting one arm on a folded knee with his right hand fixed into the chill grass to support himself, he swung his head over to look at Damien.

“Well I think you’d have to be _crazy_ to try and think about it at all.” 

There was a pregnant pause.

“But I guess that’s why we try~”

The Mayor accepted this answer with a hum and the two fell into silence again. 

Damien hugged his knees to his chest, crossing his arms to hold himself compact. It was cold. He looked over his left shoulder to find William’s gaze had shifted. He was looking at the treeline. or rather past it. Through it. Beyond it. There appeared to be more for him to say, he just needed to find it.

“It’s not nice. Life. But, it can be pretty damn fun. Too bad it’s so short~”

> “ **Yeah…** ”

It was soft and a little cracked. An allegory for his soul.

> “ **Wil?** ” 

He stole the Colonel’s attention back from whatever laid out there. He pulled him back. Grounded him, tethering him to this moment in time.

“Yeah Dames?”

A moment that no matter what happened, no matter what changed, no matter what got warped from the flood, this would stay.

> “ **If I wanted to take a risk, should I do it?** ”

Damien’s life has been a series of planned excursions. Every moment and detail planned out. All the paths paved before he walked. Every step taken with a hand held. There was no concept of risk.

“Dames, you say it yourself in your speeches. You choose your life~ You make the choices you want! I’ve never seen a more brave-”

Oh. It’s a kiss. 

It was indeed brave. And it was indeed a risk. He had no clue how William would react. His eyes were closed, not to revel in the kiss, but to keep himself from potentially seeing a reaction that would shatter his heart. 

But it didn’t happen. There was no recoil. There was no slap. There was no question of ‘why’. In its place was an embrace. In its place was a push back, but in the best way. In its place was a meeting in the middle.

Two lovers embraced each other. Neither knowing of the other’s betrayal. Past or future. 

A soft hand grazed the Mayor’s cheek gently. A panicked hand clutched onto the Colonel’s suit for dear life. Their foreheads rested against one another as their ragged, cold breaths formed little clouds between them. 

Both knew this was dangerous. If anyone were to know, everything would fall apart. But it was unspoken, that they both had each other. They always did. 

“About time~”

Damien laughed, the nervous energy that was pent up finally breaking past the dam and rushing out. 

He shook his head, laying it on Wil’s chest, listening to his breathing sync up with the other’s. Finally, like he had been holding his breath for his whole life, he let out a sigh.

> “ **May I ask one last thing of you?”**

“Of course~”

> “ **Don’t tell Celine. And also… William? Please don’t break my heart**.” 


	12. Reformation: the Sleeping and the Awake

> “ _Damien, I’m your sister. You should have told me.”_

The words were incredibly soft in the roaring silence of the aftermath. The black void seemed to suck up all sound. Needless to say, past the flood, they were disoriented as they had found themselves in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The only thing that existed was them, their shared memories, and a personified feeling of dread.

 **“You... YOU DID THIS TO MARK!”** Damien’s words were growled out in a tone that Celine had never heard them in. It was incredibly rough and jagged, cutting Celine as they were spat.

**“I GET WHY, BUT TO ME?**

Damien had always known, deep down, that Mark was something rotted. He was trouble and a leech. But they were friends. All four of them. And so you look over those faults and try to think of the bright side. But there is no bright side now.

“ **I love him… And you went and had to take that for yourself too.”**

> _“You don’t get to play that card. You were never open with me. How could I have ever known?!”_

She walked around the word like a squashed frog on the sidewalk you pity while you pass. 

“ **That! That is exactly why I didn’t. I would have told you if I felt comfortable enough-”**

But he didn’t. The words were unsaid but Celine didn’t need to be a scryer to read what Damien had meant. 

* * *

_"_ _Mark_ _?”_ _She heard something in the distance. It sounded awfully lot like him. With trepidation, she approached the voice. It wanted her to see this. But why now?_

* * *

The anger bubbled in them quickly and just as quick, they crumbled. Falling to the ground, they felt a weakness in them. Not only in them, but in their environment.

It’s falling apart.

* * *

_She saw the two. It looked bad. But she was stuck in here, just as them. A stranger. A visitor in an unfamiliar place. Why did It bring her here?_

* * *

Celine reached her hand out quickly to grab Damien and slowly everything quieted back to silence like the aftermath of an earthquake.

“ **What’s happening?”**

> _“Damien, We need a body.”_

“ **But how-** ”

> “I can.” She didn’t know why she spoke up, but she had to.

**“You’re here too?”**

> "Yeah..."

Damien and Celine looked at each other, sharing their twin looks of knowing. How did she get here? Was she real? Who put her here and-

**_Mark._ **

It clicks. For both of them. That memory...

It clicks _too well._

I can’t explain too much of what happened or why it happened, dear listener. But all I know is that Damien knew what he was doing.

**“Thank you so much Amy.”**


	13. Reclamation: Breakdown

> _ “We don’t have much time.” _

There is a distant rumbling as the world seems to be falling apart. It rushed closer from all sides, steadily turned the ground over. A seeking missile aimed towards Celine and Damien.

It was getting colder again. The frigid air nips at their fingertips and noses, their breath was visible once more. Most importantly, the water was seeping back.

> _ “I see the body.”  _

**“Good!”**

**“Oh… Will-”**

Like a drive-in theatre, Celine displayed her vision of the house, turning corners until they both could see the body of the DA laying still on the ground. And watching over the body was William.

Hurt panged in Damien’s heart. After what he just saw, after each person’s memories were revealed and all the secrets were exposed, he couldn’t look at him the same way. He was frozen in his tracks, replaying the kiss over and over again. Not  _ his _ kiss. It’s funny how the people you trust the most can simply lie without a worry in their mind.

> Celine looked over. _ “Damien there is no time for this.” _

**“No… It appears there isn’t.”**

He turned to Celine, his eyes glossy for reasons they both understood.

**“Celine, you don’t have to do this. You can go out there. Live your life. It’s not like I have much left…”**

> _ “Damien- I could never!” _

**“But this will kill you!”**

> _ “I know. “ _

And so does he. This might be a sacrifice he’s willing to let her make.

The water is far too bitter and far too high. 

**“Why is it so cold?”**

> _ “It’s the void.” _

**“Why is it here?”**

> _ “I need it. It’s the only way to make us stable. It has the power to keep us filled. There’s too… too many holes.” _

She was struggling. Exerting herself. She was burning herself down to the bottom of her wick. Damien seemed to just stand beside her, thinking. 

**He knew what he was doing** .

Amy had already left to give them time. The DA was not a part of this because the DA was whole. Somewhat.

Celine looked ready to end this once and for all.

It’s agonizingly silent against the cracking, burning, and crashing of the void-space around them. The little nest in their heads that Celine had created as sanctuary is crumbling. The bough has broken. Here upon the ground the cradle remains.

> _ “Damien, I love you.” _

**“I love you too.”**

> _ “Kill that son of a bitch. For good.” _

And with that, the flood rushes back and past. She’s gone.


	14. Reclamation: Motive

No one could say how much time had passed.

The world had reached an equilibrium—a stasis.

There was a slow and steady drip of frigid water that escaped the ruins of the cabin. Logs were strewn disorderly about the perimeter, with various decor and furniture toppled over or mercilessly destroyed. The mirror that once hung neatly on the wall laid fractured and scattered on the wooden floor. The soaked wood was now warped.

And atop that twisted floor was a body. The body of a boy who had loved so much. The body of a man who loved too much. The body of a friend who was overlooked. The body of a brother who was betrayed. The body of a lover who trusted incorrectly. The body of a mayor who tried his best. 

The body of a being named Damien.

It was silent. _He_ was silent. There was no rise and fall of a chest. There was no puff of exhale visualised in the nipping cold air. He was a body. And there wasn’t more to that.

His body was saturated with water. Water that has frozen over. It was a sight to see the delicate snowflakes that had crystalized on his eyelashes. 

It was utterly silent.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Then a cough-

And a sputter.

There was a rise and fall of a chest. His air was a weak puff that bloomed out into the air above him. His body twitched under the frost that encased him. 

A small croak could be heard from the corpse.

> “ **-lee-** ”

He groaned as he jerked his limbs, breaking free from the floor. 

> “ **-lee-** ”

He wiped at his face, knocking the ice off his cheek, off his lips, off his eyelashes. He rubbed his face, desperate to bring warmth into his rigid face muscles. He doubled over to hack out the water in his lungs. 

He wheezed a deep breath in, too weak to even pick up his head.

> “ **Celine…** ” 

It was incredibly weak. Practically a whisper to himself. Damien groaned, coughing again. He threw his head back, letting it lay limp the other way.

> “ **Celine!?** ”

It was a little bit louder. That’s better, at least. His breaths were rapid and shallow. The dry and sharp air hurt him every time he sucked in a breath. But he needed the air. 

He struggled to lift his torso up properly. His body felt heavy, as if a hundred hands had gripped him tightly and were pulling him down to Hell.

> “ **CELINE**!”

A sharp pain jabbed him in his chest as gasped, recoiling from the pain of his exertion. His palms were on the ground to steady himself as his chest heaved. He let his head droop as he collected himself once more. He let his auditory senses take over, desperate to hear the rustle of another being. 

But there was nothing, and all Damien could have tried to do was grasp at the memories of any final moments.

**‘She’s gone…’**

**‘What happened?’**

He saw the ice break. He saw the darkness of the Void. He saw the body. He saw Celine. He saw her floating in the water. 

‘ **Oh right.** **_I let her destroy herself_ **.’

He rises, finally. It’s slow and it is unsteady. Waterlogged, he stumbles to the door, tripping over the warped wood flooring. 

He let out a frosty chuckle before he grabbed the frame of the door for support. 

He stood there for a moment, leaning onto the wood with his forehead resting against it. He steadied himself and looked towards the door. He grabbed the frame again, pushing himself through.

Damien stepped through. 

And he was angry. 

Angry, and back in the manor.


	15. Reclamation: Return

Damien walked the halls of the manor. Each footstep echoed far past the walls that contained it. He knew now that the manor was much bigger than the simple infrastructure of flooring, walls, and ceilings. It was expansive. Limitless. This building was just a small creation bestowed to the not-so-mundane humans that wandered through it. 

But it was different in more ways than that. No cloud of breath could be seen when exhaled, but the air was a uniform temperature of cold. It was hard to explain. The Void was new to him. He knew It held immense power, but the small things about It surprised him. 

He didn’t realise It felt so fluid. He didn’t expect the background to sink into shadows in his peripheral view. He didn’t know the faces on the painting watched him when he passed by. He also didn’t know who was in these paintings and whether they were real people at all.

Beyond the cold and the constant sense of eerie dread, the manor appeared to be wild. Untamed in its appearance, the wall paper would shift across eras, the rooms would change in an order he never saw before. There were rooms he didn’t know existed in the house that he would walk into. How had he not seen this before?

This was the house he grew up in, and yet it all seemed suddenly unfamiliar. Was he not allowed in? How much of his childhood was spent guarded from these seemingly harmless rooms? Or did Mark add them in later? Perhaps they were always there, but simply refused to make themselves known.

He stared at the stranger of a house as he took strides forward, still feverish from the events of the cabin. He felt like everything was moving around him, and he was the fool walking in a circle. One thing was evident; the manor was warped. 

The manor is _still_ warped.

The manor is a liar. The manor is a manipulator. The manor is a force of destruction that will bend realities against the will and wants of another into the favour of Its own. 

The manor is the void. The manor is It. It is the void.

And It is the enemy.

The enemy of everyone. Of William, of Celine, of Amy, of him...

And of Mark too.

Yes. It made sense now. It was the manor that corrupted Mark, setting him on this path.

But the enemy of his enemy is his friend.

He felt the Void pulsating within him. Its sickening black tar climbed Its way into the aorta of his heart, bursting away from it like a firecracker, radiating out into his veins. The house seeped into his muscles and tissues.

It pulled him like a puppet down a hallway with only a set of open doors at the end. Beyond that was darkness that couldn’t be identified. Damien marched forward, through the hallway, and into the darkness at the end.

Now here he was. His foot had stepped forward into the planning room. The room was scattered with sticky notes, pictures, crumpled up papers, and strewn newspapers. 

This room changes people.

Damien took in the clutter of the room as the doors shut behind him. The click was enough for him to whip around, immediately grabbing the handle. It didn’t budge. He jostled it furiously. It didn’t budge. He took a step back and slammed the door with his foot. It didn’t budge.

He tried every method of wrestling, breaking, dismantling, and unlocking the door, but to no avail. Nothing worked.

He sighed, frustrated with the whole ordeal, and took a few steps backwards while staring at the door...

With a growl unlike he had ever heard from his own mouth, he yelled, swinging his hand around the slam the lamp on the desk onto the ground. The glass fractured with a chorus of pings leaving a silence after its destruction. 

This was an anger he never spoke before. He had never destroyed a thing in his life. At least, not intentionally. 

But here he was, wreckage at his feet. He eyed the desk. His hand shot for the snowglobe, chucking it against the wall. Picture frames went flying. Papers were swept off the desk. Like a hurricane, the room was littered with the remains of order.

Damien grabbed a vase and held it above his head when his vision went black.

And then he saw. He saw everything.

He saw Mark standing at the mirror, talking to what he thought was himself. He saw Mark converse with the Void that watched through the looking glass. He watched as Mark devolved into apathetic madness.

He saw the Detective compile notes on the others, maddened by his own ambition to uncover the truth. Did he not know he was paving the path to his own death? No. It seems none of them did. 

He saw the DA perusing the mementos of Mark with a wistful look of yearning in her eyes as she desperately tries to find a way to get closer to him, but resigning in failure to do so by seeking comfort and hope from his possessions instead.

_This  
room   
changes   
those   
that   
enter._

He sees Celine and Will together, chatting over tea. He says something to her. She laughs, putting a hand over his. They looked happy. Well, at least she did. Too bad she isn’t here anymore. Will, however, didn’t look too content. There was pain in his eyes. 

But perhaps that is what he deserves.

Maybe the lesson is that we all get what we deserve.

> “ **Maybe I deserve this.** ”

But this isn’t punishment. This isn’t change for the worse. This isn’t a burden like Mark or Will. They were weak and fell for manipulation. He knew what it all meant.

> “ **This is power…** ”
> 
> “ **We all get what we deserve.** **_And I deserve this_ ** **.** ”

He doesn’t know why, but he turned. His gaze fell upon the reason. A chair sat in the corner of the office with something draped on its arm. A suit. Black and white. Pristine. Something the DA would wear, perhaps. Amy did have good taste. 

He looked down at his clothes, soggy from the flood and reeking of the scent of mildew. 

_He changes._

Damien tugged the ends of the blazer down, then looked up at the door as it clicked open, gently swinging open. Beyond this room was the mortal manor. Beyond this room was William, who was guarding over the DA’s dead body. The same body Damien was soon to occupy. 

But the gruesome reality no longer matters in the scope of things.

He is going to reclaim what he deserves. What does he deserve, you might ask?

**_Retribution._ **

Retribution for **him** , forced into a part he never wanted to play. For _Celine_ , whose heart broke first, her soul soon after. For William~, who lost himself trying to find everyone else. For  Amy , who gave herself up until there was nothing left to give. For Abe, who is doomed to never find what he was looking for. 

He walked forward, with the fervent ambition of one who has been corrupted and has conceded to vices not of his own.


	16. Reclamation: Ascent

There was a body strewn upon the floor. Well… Perhaps ‘strewn’ is not the right word, despite how it had appeared to be. You were not strewn upon the floor, per se. She was not strewn upon the floor. You, her, us… Whoever we are. You were pushed. She was pushed. 

Yes. She was pushed. If a bullet could push. It can pierce. Surely it can push. For, there her body lay still as time itself seemed to freeze. 

Poor thing. Poor Amy. Poor, unfortunate District Attorney who just wanted to attend a dinner party her friend Damien invited her to, who just wanted to sit across the table from her love as he proved once again that he only had eyes for himself, who just wanted to get away from the messy politics with a fun night.

Her poor body now was pressed into the wood flooring, motionless, still in a crumpled position from the fall. The Colonel did not dare touch the body. Why, it would be improper once the DA woke up, wouldn’t it? Of course, she would be confused and dazed when she woke up, so he had decided to patiently stay by her side to explain everything to her when her eyes opened again. 

Because they will. 

Her eyes will open again. 

He hoped. 

He hoped for a while.

He hoped less after 10 hours had passed. 

He still hoped.

But with hope, there was now doubt creeping in. 

She will wake up.

He hoped.

She will open her eyes.

He hoped.

She opened her eyes. 

It did. ‘She’ really did.

Wil rubbed his own eyes awake, his palms brushing against coarse stubble on his cheeks. Didn’t he shave just before the dinner?

The DA’s body stirred, prompting to Wil to drop his thoughts and rush over, hovering cautiously, face to face.

The DA’s body woke up.

The DA’s body blinked, letting the image of the Colonel come into focus.

Wil let out what one could only describe as a union of a sigh, exhale, and nervous chuckle as he stared incredulously at the DA’s apparently _not_ lifeless body. Wil’s nervous energy poured out as each sentence he said rammed into the end of the prior like a verbal car crash.

> “Oh I thought I killed you~”
> 
> “You died!~”
> 
> “I thought you died!”
> 
> “I stayed here for a while~”
> 
> “I think I waited quite a bit~”
> 
> “I wasn’t sure if you were okay!~”
> 
> “But now you’re back~”
> 
> “So that means I _didn’t_ kill you!~”

**“No Will. You did. You did kill me. You utterly destroyed me.”**

The words coming out of the DA’s mouth sounded strange, and very unlike her. Amy never spoke like this. Amy’s voice was sweet and casual. This sounded… regal but jaded and vulnerable. Yet, it sounded familiar.

> “Wh- No… No I didn’t~”

**“William, I was dead at your hands before you shot me. Shot us…”**

“Damien~?” Confused turned to shock. Wil couldn’t even begin to pretend that this made sense. The Mayor in the District Attorney’s body? It would be impossible. Impossible outside the manor. Only this wretched residence has the capability of horror like this. But if Damien is in this body then-

> “I’m so sorry Dames- I~”

**“Oh Will. The damage is done.”**

This wasn’t like Damien.

**“We are what we are.”**

This wasn’t like Damien at all. What happened? This can’t be real.

> “But- I couldn’t have _actually_ killed you~”

**_“YOU’VE KILLED ME A HUNDRED TIMES_ ** **. Every moment we spent together was joy. Was life. I lived when I was with you. When you betrayed me, you not only killed me now, but you killed me in my hundred lifetimes with you.”**

> “Dames- You’re scaring me… I love you, I swear. Please. Just- Let’s get out of here. We’ll be happy! We’ll travel the world and-”

**“No. Leave.”**

Damien met the Colonel’s wide eyes with a sharp and cutting glare. Damien had a plan. Damien knew what he had to do. The Colonel was not so put together. What else could he do but plead for a shred of normalcy and comfort?

> “But Damien- If I don’t have you, I’ll go mad. Please! Nothing makes sense. You’re all I have…” 

**“William, leaving is in your best interest.”**

What did Damien know of his interests? What could he possibly know about the traumatised insomniac’s wants. Perhaps at a point in time prior, they would have had the same future envisioned in their minds. A shared lifetime. But that was with Damien and William. Damien and William no longer exist. 

Hearing his own name in the mouth of the other had made him shudder. It felt tainted. It was wrong. That wasn’t the DA nor was that Damien. Whatever occupied that body was no longer somebody he knew, and Wil was not going to stick around to figure out who it was. 

The Colonel, who appeared frozen in thought resumed his existence in that present, silently stood up and made his way towards the door. As his hand turned the knob, he thought about looking back. But that was all it was. Nothing more than a thought. 

You could say that William never left, for that was no longer a name that meant anything. Perhaps it would only remain as an echo within the corners of the manor. Nevertheless, Wil left the Manor, and William was left behind. His memories. His love. His name. All was left behind to be consumed by the heart of the house.

Then that left Damien who was still sitting on the ground in a pool of blood that was both his and wasn’t. With the last scrap of love in Damien done, he sat in a body that wasn’t his, in a manor that wasn’t his, left alone by a man that was no longer his. He ran his fingers through his hair, the only thing that was still _Damien_ of him.

He scanned the ground, gaze falling upon his abandoned cane. Well, if he was already living a stolen life, he might as well pretend to be himself too.

He walked to the mirror looking at his body in the reflection. Surprisingly, he didn’t look that different. The house wasn’t done playing dress up with him, he supposed. The suit was clean, a lack of blood evident but appreciated. Damien turned the cane his hands, observing the surprisingly minimal damage. Pausing for a moment of hesitation, he then slowly turned his head, looking at his scruffed hair and his tie-less collar. Not… the worst. 

Something felt… off. He was dressed far too casual for his personal taste, but that wasn’t enough to explain the feeling.

There was an aura about him he had never seen before. There were holes in his soul he didn’t remember and filled crevices he hadn’t been able to patch before.

He stared at his reflection trying to pinpoint it before the image changed suddenly. In place of his reflection was… Amy. The DA herself, reflected in the void back to him.

**“Oh, you’re here?”**

He tried looking into the depths of the mirror behind her to understand where she existed. Needless to say, Damien did not expect her spirit to persist.

> “Yeah… With no body I-”

**“No, no. I understand. It’s quite unfortunate.”**

He looked at her with pity. She was just standing there, helpless, behind barriers she could only hope to break.

> “Well- Do you think I can get out?”

**“Perhaps. As long as we keep the mirror whole, I think you can be saved.”**

He looked at her with a pity she should have recognised, for it was the same look she would cast on those being escorted out of a courtroom following a successful indictment. 

> “Really?”

**“I believe so. With the void in me, it’s so cold. But I have a connection to it. And since you’re in it, a connection to you. I think I have the ability to get you out.”**

It was that look of pity on those that she puts away, villain and troubled soul alike.

> “Jesus- that’s…” she lets out an incredulous laugh.”That’s great!”

**“It’s just unfortunate that Mark got you in this mess. Doubt he’d help.”**

It was that look of pity that was tainted with pride. Proud for how she had locked them away. Pity for how they lived their life only to have ended up here.

> “I- I don’t know if I can really blame him for reacting terribly, given everything that happened.”

**“After all this. Do you still love him?”**

She took a second. A second was too long to think, but enough to hesitate.

> “I-”

**“You do. You love him that much, you’re willing to look past all this tragedy.”**

They looked at each other. They look at the tragedy. Neither argument made sense to the other.

“I didn’t say that.”

There was a solemn moment. Something changed. Something in the air has shifted. The mood was different. But what?

**“You did love him. A lot. You genuinely cared for him.”**

There was no pity. Not anymore. Something else may have taken its place, but if you searched Damien’s eyes for pity, it was not there. Something had gone, and something had arrived. In the DA’s eyes were tears that rolled down her cheek. Her eyes didn’t have pity. It merely held… regret.

> “Maybe if I could have gotten there faster, I could have loved him when he needed it the most. I could have helped him.”

Damien's eyes fell to the cane in his hands. He was gripping it tighty, knuckles white and veins popping. None of this is fair. How could this have happened? How could Mark do this? Even now? When will his influence end? Who will put his countless victims out of misery?

**“Well. You couldn’t before. But I think you’ll have all the time in the world with him now. You love him so much?”**

The DA’s eyes darted to the motion of the rising cane.

> **“** Wait! **”**

He swung it back.

**_“Stay.”_ **

And with that, he smashed the cane into the mirror, fracturing it till fractals scattered to the ground. 

He broke the mirror.

**_“No more choices.”_ **

  
  



End file.
